


Ghosts of You

by BatmanWhoLaughss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Han Solo meets the Ghost Crew, Hera Syndulla Needs A Hug, Mentioned Kanan Jarrus, Multi, Past Character Death, Post-Star Wars: A New Hope, Post-Star Wars: Rebels, and accidentally twists the knife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27902320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatmanWhoLaughss/pseuds/BatmanWhoLaughss
Summary: Luckily, Sabine steps in. “That’s Kanan’s chair,” she whispers.“Well I don’t see him using it,” Han says.Sabine’s about to say something else, but before she can, it clicks. Hera sees it, the moment it dawns on him, sees his face morph from slightly irritated to outright horrified as he notices her crying. He springs up from the chair as if it burned him, looking around with his mouth hanging open. It’s the first time she’s ever seen Han Solo at a loss for words.“Oh-oh. Oh shit. I didn’t‒”---Han Solo hitches a ride on the Ghost, but he doesn't realize everything they've lost. Set about 1yr post the Liberation of Lothal
Relationships: Han Solo & Hera Syndulla, Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla, The Ghost Crew & Kanan Jarrus
Comments: 17
Kudos: 88





	Ghosts of You

**Author's Note:**

> This very sad idea popped into my head at 2:30AM last night and I couldn't get it out of my brain, so I wrote it down. It's based on that custom where family sometimes leaves an empty seat at the table for family members who've passed. I miss Kanan so MUCH.
> 
> Enjoy!

The only thing worse than dealing with Han Solo while he’s happy is dealing with Han Solo while he’s grumpy. 

Hera sighs, rubbing her temples as she stares out into the blue swirl of hyperspace. Sabine and Zeb are in the cockpit with her, grumbling about having to take on an extra passenger, even if it’s just for a short time. Chopper’s just his usual cranky self, muttering as he works to repair a fault in the communications array.

Han really isn’t that bad, when handled in small doses. Hera’s only had the pleasure of spending time with him a few times, but even though he’s arrogant, rude, annoying and downright _mean_ at times, she’s caught a few glimpses of the man underneath. That man can be nice, sometimes, when he’s not boasting about how his ship could outfly hers in a heartbeat or how he’s a better shot than she is. 

He’s a lot like someone else she knows. Or, used to know. Funny- it’s been almost a year, and she’s still getting used to saying that.

But today the Falcon is in the shop. Han busted up the hyperdrive pretty bad on his last mission, and Hera couldn’t help but chuckle softly when he asked if he could hitch a ride on the Ghost. He needs to pick up some supplies for the repairs, and it coincides nicely with a supply run of her own. She said yes of course, because the prospect of a stranded Han Solo is a hilarious one but she’s too nice to _actually_ leave him grounded. She knows how much pilots hate that.

But now he’s _grumpy,_ which means he’s meaner than normal, and it’s giving Hera a headache. Jacen is blissfully asleep in her bunk, finally settled down for a nap after a long few hours. He’s been getting more restless than normal too. Barely six months old and already itching to explore. He must get it from her.

As if on cue, Hera hears the cockpit door slide open, and she sighs. 

“How we lookin?” Han drawls. 

“Few more hours in hyperspace before we get to Corellia.” 

“Great.” Then Han laughs. “Falcon woulda’ made this jump a lot quicker.”

Hera can’t resist rolling her eyes. “Next time don’t break your hyperdrive trying to play hero, then,” she mutters.

“Ah, you’re just jealous, sweetheart. Not my fault my ship’s the better one,” Han says. Then he moves to the front of the cockpit, dropping unceremoniously into the co-pilot’s seat and spinning around with his hands behind his head.

Hera freezes, going rigid all over as she stares at him. Han doesn’t notice it‒ doesn’t notice the eerie silence that’s fallen over the space. It’s an unspoken rule on board the Ghost: _no one_ sits in that chair. 

A memory flashes behind her eyes, from way back before the Rebellion days. A memory of brilliant blue eyes and a lazy smile and a grumbling complaint about their latest mission. _Stop whining, love. I’ll make it up to you._

_I’m holding you to that._

She’s finding it hard to breathe suddenly, as she stares at Han Solo sitting in Kanan Jarrus’ empty seat. Her eyes are watering, and her heart suddenly feels like someone’s holding it in a vice-like grip. It’s _wrong_ , it’s so wrong. It’s not him, it’s‒

Han seems to realize something is wrong a moment later, and he opens his eyes. Sabine and Zeb are similarly stiff, staring at Han with wide eyes. Even Chopper stops chirping.

His face changes as he sits up, glancing around at the four of them. “What?”

Hera’s vision is starting to blur, and Kanan’s face flashes behind her eyes. She’s still breathing faster than she should be, and a lone tear trails down the side of her face. Vaguely, she realizes she’s trembling. “Get up,” she says. Her voice is tiny, barely above a whisper.

“I’m not allowed to sit down?” He still isn’t catching on, doesn’t know what he’s done, and _kriff_ , it’s getting harder to stop the tears. 

Luckily, Sabine steps in. “That’s Kanan’s chair,” she whispers.

“Well I don’t see him using it,” Han says. 

Sabine’s about to say something else, but before she can, it clicks. Hera sees it, the moment it dawns on him, sees his face morph from slightly irritated to outright horrified as he notices her crying. He springs up from the chair as if it burned him, looking around with his mouth hanging open. It’s the first time she’s ever seen Han Solo at a loss for words. 

“Oh- _oh_. Oh shit. I didn’t‒”

Hera can’t be here. She knows Han didn’t know, didn’t mean to stick the knife in further, but _fuck_ , it’s been a year since Lothal and she still doesn’t miss Kanan any less. “Chopper,” she says, and her voice is still impossibly small. “Take over.”

“Hera‒” Sabine starts to speak, reaching out a hand, but Hera shakes her head. Han looks like someone punched him in the stomach.

She opens her mouth, like she’s going to say something, but eventually closes it. There’s nothing to say. There’s only an empty chair, and a memory she’s desperately clinging to. There’s only ghosts of the life they could have had.

She makes her way out of the cockpit without another word.

\------

Hera’s sitting on his bed, her knees curled against her chest and his mask cradled against her stomach. Her head is resting on her legs, has been for an hour now, as she lets out small, hitching sobs. She’s worried about waking Jacen, about disturbing the rest of the crew, but she can’t stop the tears from trailing slowly down her face.

She knows it’s nothing, really. It’s just a chair. She knows Han didn’t realize what he was doing, but it feels like someone suckerpunched her all over again. It feels like the last bits of Kanan are starting to fade away, like the echoes of his memory that she’s holding onto so strongly are finally starting to ebb. 

She doesn’t know how long she sits there, softly crying and holding onto the one bit of him she can still touch, but a moment later there’s a soft knock at the door. She doesn’t answer, just reflexively curls in on herself a little tighter. She hears the door slide open a minute later. 

“Hera?” 

It’s the first time Han has ever called her that. He’s only ever called her a cheesy nickname before now, or plain old General Syndulla. Never Hera.

“Hera, I’m so sorry.” He sounds closer now, like he’s moved to stand over her, but Hera doesn’t look up. She’s still crying, softly. “The others filled me in.” 

She tries to take a deep breath. Just one, even though it _hurts_ to do it. She feels the mattress dip next to her, and wipes at her soaking wet face. She still can’t look at him, but she manages to lift her head a bit.

Han’s hand comes to rest on her back, just a light, hesitant touch, like he’s worried she’ll shatter into pieces if he pushes further. When she tenses, he pulls back, letting out a shaky sigh. “I knew Jacen’s dad was out of the picture‒ Leia told me that much,” he says, in a low voice. “But I… I had no idea.” 

Hera nods. She still doesn’t trust herself to speak yet. There’s silence for a few minutes, as her legs gradually start to uncurl, and Han doesn’t push. He just sits there next to her, silently letting her relax, until she’s sitting up straight and staring down at the mask resting in her lap. The tears haven’t dried yet, but they’re coming more slowly now. 

A few moments later, Han sighs again. “Look, Hera, I‒” She risks a glance at him as he runs a hand through his hair. “I know I can be…”

“An ass?” Her voice is still tiny, barely above a whisper, but she can’t resist.

Han chuckles. “Yeah. I’m an ass. But I… I lost someone too, once.” 

That makes her raise an eyebrow. There’s real, raw honesty in Han’s voice, and it’s a tone that she’s never heard from him before. She never pegged Han for the type to fall in love. 

But then again, she didn’t think Kanan ever would at first either.

“Her name was Qi’ra. It’s… not really the same‒ she left me in the dust. Betrayed me. But I was a _wreck_. For years. I tried to forget about it, but it was the worst thing to ever happen to me.” He bumps her shoulder with his. “And I live with a Wookie.”

Hera knows he’s just trying to lighten the mood, but she can’t help but let out another small laugh. “Try living with a Lasat.” 

Han chuckles. “I really don’t want to.” Then he meets her eyes again. “I know some of what it’s like, but I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I’m sorry.” 

Hera sighs, absent-mindedly running her fingers over the jaig eyes etched into the metal mask. She’s silent for another beat, before she swallows thickly.

“This was his,” she finally whispers. “He was blinded in a battle‒ he used to wear it to cover the scars.” 

“Sabine told me a bit about him,” Han says, and he chances resting a hand on her shoulder again. When she doesn’t pull away, he keeps going. “He was a Jedi, right?”

Hera nods. “One of the few to survive the Purge. He was a little… unorthodox. But he was the best of them. The best of us.” Her voice breaks a bit on the last word.

Han swallows. “He sounds like a great man,” he says, and the respect is clear in his voice. He sounds like he really means it.

“He was,” Hera whispers. Then she smiles. “He would have really liked you. You two have a lot in common‒ I think you would have been good friends.”

Han laughs. “If he’s anything like me, I’m surprised you didn’t kill him.”

“I was tempted to, sometimes. But I knew he was a good man underneath.” Now Hera looks at Han again. “Like you.” 

Han’s face twists, and for a moment he doesn’t know what to say. Hera sees the words sinking in, as he flushes red. They’re silent again, and she can’t help but glance down at her lap. 

Suddenly, Han gets up without warning, and from the way he’s standing, he’s seemingly hit his emotional limit for the day. She can practically see the walls coming back up. _Just like Kanan._ “Well,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll leave you be. But I… I really am sorry.” 

Hera smiles, a bigger one this time. “I know. Thanks, Han.” 

The door shuts behind him with a soft hiss, and she waits another few moments to flop down onto her side, her legs curling inwards again. The mask is pressed to her chest.

“I love you, Kanan,” she whispers. “I miss you.” 

But there’s only silence, and a ship full of ghosts.


End file.
